


Birds of Fire and Ice

by deeyahs



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Gambling, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-24 10:23:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12010746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deeyahs/pseuds/deeyahs
Summary: Rusa Jost, a psychopathic pirate, dislikes being second best. One night, he encounters a mysterious woman who gives him a run for his money. Little does he know that this chance meeting will greatly affect him several years down the road. Highly OC driven with no mention of canon characters, but set in the One Piece universe.





	Birds of Fire and Ice

From the moment I saw her, I knew she could kick my ass.

Those green eyes met mine as I glanced from my cards to her. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t look away from them, and that sly glint was difficult to ignore. 

Something about them screamed danger: the clashing holy terror to my own might of steel.

My gaze drifted from her eyes to the auburn falling over her forehead in wild wisps. Her updo couldn't contain all her thick hair. It was almost as if the hair itself was waiting for the chance to break free and cascade down her shoulders and back.

Her body swayed as she approached the table. Her black dress hugged the rich curves of her breasts and hips. With each step, a pale leg emerged from the folds of her skirt.

The closer she drew, the more clearly I could see her freckles. They were everywhere, dotting her cheeks, her nose, the tops of her breasts, vanishing between her cleavage like the strands of the golden chain around her neck.

She smiled as she grasped the top of the chair, slid it from the table, swept her skirt into her hands, and sat before me.

Something about that smile seemed cold, despite the warm red paint on her lips, the roundness of her cheeks, and the dimple that creased her skin.

Even her silvery voice had the power to send tremors down any poor bastard’s spine. It almost happened to me.

“If you have room for one more, then let’s play.”

\----------

He extends his inky wings and soars into the exciting, shadowy world of danger and the unknown.

\----------

Elements of the most intense poker match I’ve ever played:

 

1\. Eight rounds of poker leading up to this final, decisive round

2\. Cigar smoke wafting to the nostrils, sickeningly sweet

3\. A faint scent of peppermint, chilling my soul

4\. The clinking of poker chips as the man on the right slides a few more into the pile

5\. The flicking slap of cards dealt from across the table

6\. Blank faces to the left and right

7\. A straight flush

8\. Blood red lips

9\. Folding and folding, folding some more

10\. Winged eyeliner

11\. A knowing smile

12\. A royal flush

13\. Laughter

14\. The queen of spades

\----------

“…when your die is cast, she’ll have the final laugh at you…” –Styx

\----------

The rest of the guys had chosen to fold this round, yet he hadn’t.

He wanted to win.

But in the depths of his mind, he knew he didn’t stand a chance.

So why had he tried?

She’d exuded such a mighty, dangerous air.

She had not disappointed.

So why did his eyes widen and his jaw drop when he saw her hand?

She lowered her cards onto the table in a pile with the ten of spades on top. Then, she spread them out with a flick of her hand.

A royal flush.

He closed his eyes and sighed through his nose.

Now, he could kiss his winnings for the evening good bye as the light, airy laughter ebbed from her like a spring.

“Read them and weep, boys!”

She cupped her hands and arms around the hulking pile of poker chips in the center of the table, dragging them toward her, a triumphant grin upon her face.

With his lips in a taut pinch to the side, he swept his fingertips back through his hair, watching as his money slipped away.

He’d have won this game had she not caught his eye.

Had she not smiled the way she had, strolled to the table, twisted her body with each stride of that proud, seductive gait.

Had she known, the moment she’d met his gaze, that she would defeat him at the end of all these rounds?

Had she felt something else? A connection? A sense of pride?

She rose from the table, taking the chips with her, to collect her winnings and to leave the casino. All the while, he remained seated.

His eyes followed her as she rose, sauntering away, her hips swaying hypnotically like a metronome.

She cast one final glance at him from over her shoulder.

Her eyes narrowed. The corner of her mouth curled.

With a tempting tilt of her head, she took her leave.

He hardly ever lost a match of poker. He hadn’t lost one in ages. And even though he lost one match of poker, this didn’t mean that he had no further business with her.

This wasn’t over yet.

\----------

The essence, the pith, the soul of Corvus was chipped by the lithe talon of Serinus.

\----------

Everything about this island was aged. Aged buildings, aged doors. Aged cobblestone paths and aged lightposts lining the footpaths, their aged black paint steadily peeling away from aged metal.

Aged vines that creeped up the side of aged houses and slipping into aged cracks in the concrete. Aged people who walked those streets earlier in the daytime, with aged smiles and aged creases at the corners of their eyes.

Practically everyone he’d played poker with had been aged. The aged poker chips had lost their sheen over time, after aged hands had passed them around countless tables during matches of poker.

The scent of the casino had reeked of aged mold, aged cigarettes and stogies, and aged perfume. The building's aged door creaked when he shoved it. Now, it was time to slither out into the age-old dark of night.

A darkness barely illuminated by the precarious flickering of the lampposts’ dying lights. A moist, sweltering, and foggy darkness that obscured the near distance, vanishing with each advancing pace from him.

Foggy darkness that left him unsettled, alert, and alarmed, like the calmness before the storm.

Five minutes from the inn. She couldn’t have gone far.

Dead silence—save for the low tap of his boots as they touched the cobblestones with each stride. Save for the soft intermittent zapping of the flickering lights as he passed them. Save for his quiet, through-the-nose breaths.

More aged buildings, surrounded by staircases that spiraled to higher stories. Ancient windows, decorated crudely with ancient smudges, tiny ancient cracks, and tattered ancient shutters, dangling from their bent hinges.

A lamppost, another lamppost, more lampposts in the dark distance.

The old fountain at the center square, surrounded by more old lampposts.

And seated on the edge of that fountain were the emerald eyes.

The nearest lights flickered before extinguishing, barely giving him the chance to view her silhouette. He knew it was her. He couldn’t forget those eyes: far from ancient, but holders of secrets and tales waiting to be told. Secrets and tales he’d probably never get to learn, but that didn’t matter.

He cared more about the fire in her eyes, the spark he’d seen the moment they’d first locked gazes. A strong spark that he sensed would never extinguish, probably not until the day she took her final breath.

For a woman who emitted such a frigid aura, her gaze sure was sultry. She was dangerous. He knew it, and it made him sweat.

However, he’d never been one to back away in the face of danger.

\----------

Her smile holds the cheer of a finch, but her eyes the aggression of a vulture.

\----------

She noticed him approach, and she rose, but she did not remain in place. She couldn’t, not as that shrewd sneer drew near.

Intriguing, alluring, and spellbinding: three words she could best use to describe that sneer. She’d seen him before. She knew those lips and she knew the black coat.

She knew exactly who he was, though she’d never met him.

Anyone else would have dashed away, seeing that smile, seeing the way he tilted his head forward, his cold eyes gazing at her from beneath dark eyebrows.

Anyone else but her.

As she drew closer to him, she rested her fists in the crook of her waist, and she tilted her head, peering up at him. She sensed a fiery spirit from him, a volcano on the verge of eruption.

A fiery spirit that still couldn’t compare to the ice in his stare.

Her heart throbbed.

Finally, they stood before each other, their eyes locked on each other’s for a moment. She did not have to divert her gaze to know that he was fixing his posture—the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the way he slid his hands from the pockets of his worn coat. She watched as his eyes wandered lower, studying her body from the bottom up.

His gaze pierced her right to her soul. She almost shuddered, had it not been for his warm fingertips.

His eyes now focused on the chain around her neck. He slid the pads of his fingers along her chest to sweep the chain into his hand. Shifting his fingers one by one, he gently allowed the chain to drop back into place.

And then, the cold eyes stared into hers again. His smirk never faltered, not even as he drew his face even closer and as his fingertips traced her neck.

Who was she to run?

The fun was about to begin.

With the back of her forefingers, she brushed the side of his face—slowly, gently—from his cheekbone down to his chin.

She raised her head, leaning forward, cradling her body against his as their noses slid past each other.

Her eyes drifted closed just before her lips touched fire.

\----------

How could he have guessed that such powerful frost could spawn the torrid flame within him?

\----------

He remembered it all. He wouldn’t forget so easily, not after what they’d done.

How they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other on the way up the stairs to his room. She’d clung to him, her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, squeezing him as her tongue traced his cheek, chin, and neck. She hadn’t wanted to give him a chance to breathe; she wanted to fight, to win, long before they’d reached the battlefield.

How, the moment they stepped foot into the room, she’d hardly given him time to close the door. She grabbed the lapels of his coat, pressed her icy lips to his, and dragged him toward the bed.

How he slid down the straps of her dress, giving it a powerful downward tug and then allowing it to drop to the floor, around her ankles. With each piece of clothing she peeled from him, his flame burned hotter.

How they rolled like violent waves beneath the sheets, each trying to roll on top of the other and fighting so desperately to dominate. He would be on top of her for one moment, his fingers laced between hers, pressing her hands into the mattress, sliding his tongue between her lips, crushing his hips against hers. But the next moment, her hands were free, and she’d draw them down his torso, painfully slowly, making him shudder when her cold fingernails scraped down his chest.

How he’d see that devious gleam in her eyes when she knew she had him wrapped around her finger. She’d seize the moment to nibble his chin, his jaw, his earlobe, tempting him, letting him feel her breath across the skin of his cheek without giving him the kiss he’d expected. Before he knew it, she’d be on top of him, pressing a fingertip to his lips when he gasped at her touches and movements, something that only made him burn longer, harder as he struggled to regain control.

How he quickly figured out the most sensitive parts of her body, that the kisses to her stomach and thighs brought out the fierceness behind that charming smile.

How the wild strands of auburn had begun to cling to her forehead and the sides of her face, fastened by sweat, the longer they battled, the harder they went at each other, the more they endured until they both collapsed, finally dying in each others’ arms.

Deadlocked.

Even between the sheets, he still couldn’t surpass her.

Yet he could not say he was disappointed.

Once it ended, they lay there on their backs, catching their breath, sticky, and chuckling in between gasps. A wild tumble, probably the wildest of his life. The perfect combination of satisfying and frustrating.

Maybe the only time he was completely fine with being second best.

Before he could move again, she’d moved first, pulling him closer and pressing her small, curvy body against his. That cold smile still present, she picked away a damp strand of hair from between his eyes.

“You’re warm,” she said, “But your gaze is cold.”

He chuckled and closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to hers. “It’s probably because my soul is so cold. I could learn a thing or two just from you tonight, but that’s not me.”

When all was said and done, they made themselves comfortable. His arms tightly encircled her waist and she nestled her back against his chest and stomach. Just a hint of her minty scent remained, he realized, as he rested his chin on top of her shoulder.

He counted the freckles on her neck and breasts until he could keep his eyes open no longer.

\----------

When fire and ice would part ways at dawn, warm rain would be the last thing on either of their minds.

\----------

There were two of them, and they both looked around 7 years old. A brown-haired boy and a raven-haired girl who kind of looked like my sister from a distance—

—had it not been for the green eyes, the lack of a smile, and the very pronounced scowl. In her hands, she tightly grasped the top of a small birdcage, and in the cage was a tiny yellow canary.

I couldn’t help but stare at the girl, and the longer I stared, the more the hair on the back of my neck stood.

She looked almost exactly the same. An unmistakable resemblance, between the shape of her face, her pale freckled skin, and the spark in her emerald eyes.

Okay, so it wasn’t as pronounced a spark as the one I remembered. But it was a spark and it was there, nonetheless.

I knew exactly who they were, and my heart sank. I didn’t have to ask them, and they didn’t even have to speak. I knew the moment I saw the girl’s eyes.

But how had they found me? Why had they shown up to my house? I raised my bent arm and rested it against the threshold.

I shouldn’t have asked the question. I already knew the answer to it. I didn’t have to, but the words left me anyway.

“Where is your mother?”

The children exchanged glances, and when they did, the pain on the boy’s face was obvious enough to reinforce the answer I already knew. The girl’s frown deepened, and the crease between her eyebrows became prominent as she and I met eyes again.

“She’s dead,” she replied.

I couldn’t tell which I was more upset about: the fact that I was now stuck looking after two children whom I never knew existed, or the fact that I’d never get to cross paths with that woman again.

With a sigh, I rubbed my neck and glanced idly into the distance. Had she known all along that this would happen? Or maybe this was my punishment for crossing into some dangerous territory seven years ago?

Within seconds, I had so many questions crossing my mind left and right, none of which could be answered for the rest of my life.

Now, I have two kids and a canary. Whenever the canary sings, an involuntary chill runs down my spine.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about two years ago already! Wooow!
> 
> I used to run an ask and roleplay blog for Jost on Tumblr for a time. Someone asked me if he had any children, and I figured he might, but they would more than likely be born from one-night stands. Given his personality, he struggles to form meaningful connections. I was in the car, riding home from work, and I got some ideas.
> 
> I wound up creating Svana, the woman Jost meets in this lyric essay, and she bears his children after said one-night stand. She's a member of a bounty hunting group on an island in the Grand Line.
> 
> Why did she wind up in bed with Jost?
> 
> She flirts with danger pretty regularly. She loves the excitement and the adrenaline rush that comes with it. She probably also wanted to find a way to surpass a dangerous guy like Jost without fighting him, and perhaps also found him charming. Yeah. Him. Of all people. She's got issues.
> 
> Their kiddos are named Stefan and Elva.


End file.
